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down from Fulk on the other side, Henry of Cornhill. It was not only that these cronies of the king were lowborn, cruel, and greedy in themselves; they seemed to bring out the very worst in John. |
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It was not fair, Salisbury thought. There was much good in John. He was clever, he could be warm and loving and generous. That he did not often show that side of his nature was the fault of circumstances. John had been the youngest of a large and violent brood, unwanted by his powerful and magnetic mother, whom he adored, and spoiled by his father, who had already divided his vast possessions before John's birth. Thus, he had been called John Lackland, had been made the butt of jests, had been blamed for all the dissensions in the family. Salisbury knew that John felt that deep in his father's mind he had even been blamed for the rebellions and, finally, the death of his eldest brother. Although old King Henry had buried that thought deep and had been even more insistent about finding a suitable heritage for his youngest son, he could not completely conceal the canker in his heart. |
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Then Henry's frantic efforts to carve a kingdom for John out of Richard's domain brought about the rebellion of his second son. John was near demented. If Richard died, he would have the whole, because Geoffrey, the third brother, was dead of disease. He would also have the undying hatred of his mother, already imprisoned for her efforts in Richard's cause, and the noless-bitter grief and hatred of his father, no matter how concealed. How much John wanted that kingdom no man, not even Salisbury, knew. At first he threw himself into the war on his father's side, but Richard was more than a match for the aging, guilt- and grief-ridden Henry. |
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John was clever. He saw there was more than one way to skin a cat. The kingdom could be inherited from Richard more easily than it could be wrested from him by war. John knew his brother Richard was not likely |
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